This is not life in Gaza, this is death

An exhausted Islamic Relief worker in Gaza admits how difficult it is for him to stay strong for his children as the situation in Gaza deteriorates.

It’s been a long time since I wrote my last blog. I fell into a depression and really couldn’t write. I still remember the last time I sat down to write; it was at the beginning of the operation in Rafah. Since then, I had given up hope that our misery would ever end. I began to believe that we are destined to endure this suffering for the rest of our lives.

I barely spoke to anyone in the house and spent my days sleeping or just in my room. I lost even more weight because I only ate one meal a day and coffee. It was a hard time for me and my family, especially because all border crossings were closed after the operation began, making goods even scarcer and very expensive. Water was no longer supplied to houses. We had no fuel, couldn’t cook, couldn’t find drinking water, couldn’t even wash. We were desperately looking for a solution or a sign of hope. Our only wish was to survive, even if everything is hard and everyone is suffering. This is not life, this is death.

A frightening education

Eventually I came to the conclusion that we have to move on. I can’t just fall into the darkness and give in to depression and despair – I had to be stronger for my children. My children… my heart aches when I think about what they are going through. Children all over the world have just finished another school year and are enjoying their summer holidays. But Palestinian children are being killed.

More than 15,000 children have died and those who are still here struggle to find water, food or adequate clothing. Instead of going to school, they have learned new things like how to fetch water, make a fire, queue for bread and identify the sounds of explosions. They have run after planes carrying aid, screaming to drop aid. They have learned about politics, about human rights abuses, about genocide and about a larger world that does not care about them. They have started to categorize people into two camps – those who support us and those who hate us.

They grow up in a harsh environment, eating bad food and catching all kinds of diseases. They dream of toys, new clothes and returning to their own rooms and beds, but they wake up from these dreams in the middle of the night, terrified. They can’t go to the bathroom because it’s dark and scary and there’s no electricity. They can’t watch a cartoon or sing a song to cheer themselves up. They have no stories or books to distract themselves. All the books have been burned to make fire so we can feed ourselves.

We are not superheroes

I thought, I have to be there for my children. They have to see me standing up. They have to learn patience and resilience. People think Palestinians are superheroes, but we are vulnerable. We are weak, poor, tired, exhausted, fed up with the world. We are normal people who are being deprived of their normal lives.

At one point I was angry and shouting a lot, telling my children to be strong, behave like adults and learn to feel full after a small meal. My wife told me to calm down and suddenly I burst into tears. I couldn’t bear the pressure. The pressure of this life is like huge stones weighing on all of us. The lockdown affects every aspect of our lives. We live in the Wild West now. There is no law enforcement and people get into fights for the smallest of reasons. Thugs, thieves and criminals are everywhere. Just going to the market to get food for the children could cost you your life and no one would even bat an eyelid. Everyone has their own share of losses. There is very little compassion or sympathy. Everyone is exhausted. Everyone is on their own path to survival but no one has escaped this horror. Only those who have died.

For all these reasons, I have not been able to write recently, but I hope to be able to do so again. I hope my words will remind everyone of what we are going through in Gaza. I hope the prayers of the free people of the world will end this nightmare. I hope the future will bring peace and the chance for prosperity.

Alongside these lofty dreams, I also have simpler hopes. I want to wake up in the morning and find water in the tap, take a shower, drive to work, meet my colleagues, take my children to school, or drink my morning coffee. I hope I can see my family again. I hope I can go on holiday and swim in the sea. I hope I can sleep late at night. I hope we can go back to the normal, simple, stupid life that we used to think was bad. I hope the war will end.

Please help Islamic Relief to help the people of Gaza in great need: donate now to our Palestine emergency appeal.

*This blog is anonymized to ensure the safety of our colleague and other people mentioned. Read the other blogs in this series here.

Editor’s note: This blog was written amid a rapidly evolving and worsening crisis. The information was accurate as of Tuesday, June 25, 2024.